I haven't met the new "me" yet.

Note: I began writing this in April 2024. I’m finishing it in September 2025/March 2026. My grief has taken a different shape over that time, but I wanted to honor each snapshot.

Hi friends.

Words have been hard.

Those close to me know that I like to find the perfect word to describe a feeling. As an introverted peacekeeper and #5 in a family of 6, I grew up waiting for permission and room to speak. For others to let me speak or invite me to speak. So, I would mostly listen - listen to all of the stories, nuances, and ways that people could explain things. Listened and watched how the same story and words would shift and change depending on the audience. I was fascinated by words and how feelings and descriptors could be as general as “sad” or as detailed as “tormented”. I collected words in my mental library and used them intently.

My mom and I would always compliment each other on word choice in our conversations and share delight in discovering the perfect words to describe our feelings. This is one of the many things I miss.

Ever since mom died, I haven’t quite been able to find the “perfect words” to describe how I’m feeling. My communication with others not in my immediate vicinity has all but dropped off. “Fever dream”, “numb”, “fucking terrible”, and “varied” have all been descriptors these last couple of months. But still, none of those can accurately describe it. The absence. The hollowness. The otherness.

And in the disbelief, I can't face reinvention

I haven't met the new me yet

There'll be happiness after you

But there was happiness because of you

I'm taking these Taylor Swift lyrics out of context, but they speak to me. The line "I haven't met the new me yet" has stuck in my mind like glue, playing over and over again. I've felt like a stranger to myself.

September 2025

Below are some thoughts that are a bit jumbled, with a mix of what I had started writing last year and finished this year...my perfectionist self is angry that I can't put grief into something neat and comprehensive. But my perfectionism is what keeps me from posting, and I want to break out of that where I can.

I may not be able to fully describe how I’m feeling, but I can describe how Mom made me feel by sharing some of the things she’s done for me.

The Daily Ledge. There was a period during a rough relationship that I would call mom crying, and she would proceed to help “talk me off of the ledge”. She was always able to help ground me in love and provide insightful advice. By the end I always felt better and more like myself.

I miss her advice, encouragement, and validation.

Kickball coaching. I decided to play cup-in-hand kickball one year and was EXTREMELY anxious about it. You'd think it was an Olympic tryout. I did not grow up playing sports, and I actually grew up with a story that I could never be good at sports. In our conversation she encouraged me and made me laugh with comments like "just kick it towards the weak ones, honey".

I miss her laughter and amazing sense of humor.

Gifts. Whether it was a birthday, holiday, or a Tuesday, my mom loved to give gifts. It was her love language, and she was amazing at it. She also recommended great songs and books, and would pick up things from the library for me when it spoke to her. She also got me my favorite candy on Valentine's Day and Easter.

I miss the ways she made me feel seen, known, and deeply loved.

Those are only a few of many, many things. I wish everyone could've known my mom. And she would've wished the same. The more that she loved...well, the more love she had to give. It was truly incredible to witness her spin up genuine connections in the grocery store line, Hallmark store, at the mailbox, and basically everywhere she went. In a conversation that inspired my "joie de vivre" tattoo, she shared that this is a great life and she didn't want to miss it. She didn't want to miss people just because of judgements. That was mom.

Even in the hospital, mom connected with others for as long as she could. She quickly became a favorite patient of the nurses and doctors, and maintained her upbeat optimism for as long as she could be herself. There are beautiful moments from that time...treasured conversations with hope and humor and love...and other moments with so much pain that every time I relive them, it feels like my heart is exploding and shattering at the same time.

One of those moments was watching mom’s beautiful hair that she always had styled get tied up in a big knot, no matter how we tried to keep it brushed. Being bedridden for three months will do that, “shampoo shower caps” be damned. I made it my mission to unravel mom’s now-impossible hair. I was going to try a new method the week she took a sudden downturn. Brushing mom’s hair was a way I could connect with and care for her, and in the end it breaks my heart that she passed with that goddamn knot still there.

The anniversary of her death is September 20th...18 days. It will be two years, and I'm starting to meet the new me. I'll try to introduce her at some point. Maybe through a polaroid picture challenge.

March 2026

I decided to hop into my blog, and saw that I still didn't post this. I finally decided to, even though it's not "perfect" and I'm not sure how to describe the new me. But we'll see about that polaroid challenge...

Be well, friends.